Chapter 2 #2
“Ye said those trousers of yers could bend, aye?” Lysander called over his shoulder. “Bend them a bit faster; we’re late. I told Da I’d have ye downstairs before the doors opened. If ye’d just agree to stay here with us…”
“I’m not a house party sort of guy; you know that.” Max hurried to catch up with his brother. How’d the man walk so fast with all that armor on? Well, he had said he could dance with it on, hadn’t he? “I’m perfectly fine staying at the inn until my house is finished.”
One of the first things he’d done, after determining the Highlands were a place he could stay on a permanent basis and be happy, was commission a house to be built for him. It would be modest, which suited him fine, but with the opportunity to add on to it in the future, if necessary.
But the idea of adding on to the house necessitated having someone to share it with, and if Max were honest with himself, he was more than ready for that. He’d lived over half his life in Everland, and within the last few years, had seen all his friends fall in love and get married.
There was no one for him back home, but he’d been promised the Highlands were full of beautiful “lasses,” and he was looking forward to meeting more of them.
But even as he considered who he’d likely dance with that night, his mind went back to the girl he’d bumped into just a few hours ago, before Lysander had dragged him off to the Dumpkins Estate.
He’d been staying at the inn for a while now and had noticed her a time or two because of her uncommon loveliness when she smiled.
She wasn’t one of the normal servers in the dining room, or he would’ve seen her up-close before that evening.
She’d been wearing a cap, which shadowed her face, but when she’d met his eyes, he’d been enthralled by that pretty blush which had swept up her throat.
And when he’d taken her hand…? Well, it was hard to forget the jolt of awareness which had passed through him.
“There ye are, laddie!” boomed the laird of the Oliphant Clan. Da was big, bearded, and good-natured, and was currently dressed as a…chicken?
“What are ye supposed to be, Da?” Lysander asked, as he jogged down the last few steps. “A pheasant? A grouse? An albino peacock?”
The older man harumphed and fluffed some of the feathers sewn around his expansive middle. “I’m a swan, ye young dobber. Everybody kens swans are expected attire for masquerades!”
“For young ladies, Father,” came the voice of Phineas, Lysander’s younger brother, as he stepped up to their little group. “Swans are held in high regard as costuming choices for young ladies, due to the generally accepted truth of their mating for life.”
“Young ladies mate for life?” asked Max, confused.
Raising a brow, Phineas murmured, “I hope so. But I meant swans mate for life. It is apparently verra romantic.”
“Well, I can be a romantic, can I no’?” snapped their father. “And ye’re supposed to be…what? One of yer antique gentlemen ye’re so fond of reading about?”
With a haughty tilt of his chin, Phineas corrected his father. “I am dressed in the regalia of Ramesses the Second, pharaoh of the Nineteenth Dynasty.” Then he seemed to deflate a bit. “Well, not his actual regalia. That was only recently discovered and isnae even on display yet.”
Lysander leaned over to whisper overly loud to Max, “Phin’s a bit obsessed with history.”
Max eyed the man’s legs. “I can see that. Is that a”—he cleared his throat—“um, well, it looks like a loincloth?” He’d seen a few Shoshone wearing them back home. “Is that what this Ramesses fellow wore?”
“I endeavor to accuracy,” Phin told him with a solemn nod. “Olive is wearing matching regalia, but she refused to conform to historical precedent—”
“That’s because she knew she couldnae show up here in a fooking loincloth, Phin.” Lysander rolled his eyes. “Yer betrothed has more sense than ye.”
There was a spark in Phineas’ eye when he huffed haughtily, “If ye think I’m bad, ye should see Lyon.”
As one, all four men turned to the far end of the ball room.
Max figured, had this been a true medieval castle, there’d likely be a giant fireplace or something there.
But since this was practically the twentieth century, instead, there was a series of huge windows adorned with fancy blue draperies.
And in front of them stood the laird’s heir, his arms crossed in front of his chest, wearing a scowl which would scare piss from a stone.
And a kilt.
Sure as shooting, his knees were bare for all the world to see above his boots.
A genuine kilt. Thank God Da hasn’t asked me to wear one yet.
“He looks positively medieval,” Phineas said with a sniff of disgust.
“Aye, but I thought ye liked history,” Lysander teased, jabbing his brother with his elbow. “Do ye think he’s going to wear a mask?”
The laird answered instead, after a shake of his head. “I doubt he’ll stay for too long.”
Phineas nodded. “And he’s wearing his usual mask already, is he no’?”
Max didn’t know Lyon well enough to judge if Phineas’s comment was a joke or not.
The oldest Oliphant brother had obviously been caught in a fire at some point, and scars covered the left side of his face and disappeared under the old-fashioned linen shirt he wore.
The rest of him looked fit enough—and Max knew he was seeing much more of Lyon than he’d ever expected to, what with the skirt and all—but the man did always seem to wear a permanent scowl.
Tonight was no different.
Suddenly, the laird swung back in their direction. “Where’s yer sister? Is she ready yet?”
Soothingly, Lysander patted his father’s arm. “She tried to get out of it as usual, but I pointed out nae one would ken her in a mask, and she agreed to make an appearance.”
“Will she stay longer than Lyon?” Da growled. “Swear to Christ, that lassie needs to realize no’ everyone has shunned her. She’s no’ going to find a husband if she doesnae attend events like the Dumpkins house party!”
Lysander shrugged. “She says she doesnae want a husband.”
“She thinks she doesnae deserve one,” the laird grumbled, “which is nonsense. Ye’re sure she’ll come?”
Lysander nodded. “Athena’s good for her word. She said she’d attend for as long as Lyon does. She’ll be dressed as a black cat.”
“Of course.” Phineas rolled his eyes. “Maxwell, I challenge ye to count fewer than four black cats tonight. And I suspect there’ll be an equal number of young ladies dressed as swans, much like our da here, though I do hope they will be better looking.”
“And dinnae forget Vestal Virgins,” Lysander added with a grin, before his father could object to the jibe. “They’re my favorite.”
“Hell,” Max said, surprised. “Do all the ladies dress identically on purpose?”
“Nay,” the laird chuckled. “But most either lack imagination, or they follow trends.”
Lysander nodded. “And most willnae likely be wearing costumes at all. A masquerade is a chance to show off their fanciest—and most daring—gowns, along with their ornate masks.”
“Ye’re all caught up?” the laird inquired, but didn’t give Max a chance to answer before waving his arms expansively. “Good! This party is for ye, Maxwell, after all. I want ye at my side as we stand at Lady Dumpkins’s side.”
And as he strode off toward the front of the room, Lysander sent Max a grin. “Welcome to Highland Society, Max.”
Managing a grin, Max hurried after his newfound father. Society? He appreciated the welcome, but he couldn’t wait to get down to business at the factory. He didn’t belong here.
Ember walked to the Dumpkins Estate in an effort to remain unseen, but it was no great hardship.
She was used to walking—albeit not in heeled slippers—and she was too excited to mind.
Her cloak hid her gown from anyone who happened to glance her way and allowed her to slip in one of the rear entrances, so she didn’t have to worry about knocking on the big front door where all the fancy carriages were disgorging lords and ladies and honored guests.
Ember had been in the castle many times making deliveries and checking on servants who needed help, so it was second nature to slip in the back, remove her cloak, hurry down the long corridor, and climb the stairs to the main floor.
There was even another entrance to the ballroom which allowed her to slip in behind one of the pillars, allowing her to observe unnoticed.
The room was stunning!
The Dumpkins servants had outdone themselves; the entire ballroom was decorated to look like an indoor meadow, with green wall-hangings and potted trees and flowers on every surface.
Midsummer Masquerade, indeed. Everyone was pretending to be something they weren’t…including the architecture.
Ember took a deep breath, inhaling the riotous mix of fragrances, and smiled.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Lady Dumpkins stood at the top of the steps, and at her call, everyone quieted.
“I am delighted to welcome you all to my modest abode and my annual event. I so look forward to spending the coming weeks with you, but for tonight, we must eat, drink and be merry. Allow me to introduce a man who needs no introduction, our Laird Oliphant.”
Around the room, the guests burst into polite applause, although there were a couple men—possibly already drunk—who roared the clan’s motto in good spirits.
Ember slid around the pillar so she could see a little better, not bothering to hide her fond smile. The clan had prospered under the big, jolly man’s leadership, and everyone loved him.
From the way Lady Dumpkins blushed happily as he took her hand and kissed her knuckles, the older widow wasn’t an exception.
But as Laird Oliphant stepped forward to speak, he gestured to a man standing below him on the steps.